


Only a Game to Pass the Time

by Miss_M



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bar, F/M, Jealousy, Journalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 05:56:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5697526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_M/pseuds/Miss_M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While visiting King’s Landing from an assignment in war-torn Essos, Hyle Hunt invites his college acquaintance Brienne out for a drink, and she brings Jaime along. Male jealousy ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only a Game to Pass the Time

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be pure crack. The best-laid plans of mice and fanfic writers… I own nothing.

Hyle sat with his back to the wall, at a table which gave him a good overview of the bar: the other patrons, the bartender, the main door, the emergency exit. The quickest exit routes unobstructed by chairs or tables. Hyle had already paid a visit to the toilets and established the windows were too small for anyone larger than a ten-year-old to wiggle through. Still, it paid to be cautious. In his line of work, Hyle had learned to consider every door or window a potential danger, if not an escape route. Mark Mullendore from the _Oldtown Courier_ had lost his arm just a few moons earlier, when a kid with a bomb strapped to his back had got into a bar frequented by foreign journalists in Yunkai through a basement window no taller than a crouching cat. At least Mullendore had been on retainer and had disability insurance. 

Hyle reminded himself that this wasn’t Slaver’s Bay, where war between various city-states overlapped with civil war and had done so for the better part of a decade. This was King’s Landing, where the worst he was likely to suffer that evening were drunk drivers, exorbitant prices in bars, and possibly getting stood up. 

Hyle didn’t really believe Brienne Tarth would fail to show up. She’d been reluctant to accept his invitation to meet for drinks when he’d called her, trotted out some lame-ass story about plans with her partner. Her voice had sounded exactly the same as it had the previous time Hyle had spoken to her, confirming that the _King’s Landing Post_ would buy one of his freelance stories about the Dothraki pacification campaign. 

Her voice has sounded the same, even if she’d apparently learned to lie in the interim. A partner! Hyle had swallowed the jest about her five cats surviving just fine without her for a night, suggested she bring this partner along for drinks and a chat amongst friends. It pleased him to imagine how Brienne would blush beet-red when she realized the jig was up and she’d have to confess to her falsehood once she showed up alone. Unless she simply failed to show, but Hyle doubted her integrity would let her do that. If by some unprecedented miracle she did show up with a man – some unfortunate soul from her newspaper’s mail room she’d undoubtedly bribed into pretending to be her boyfriend for the evening – Hyle could amuse himself by needling Brienne about it every chance he had in the future. He could start by asking her when she was going to tie the knot with that catch she’d brought along, then why she didn’t have a baby at her breast yet. 

Oh yes. If she did persist in the charade, Hyle could have years of amusement at her expense to look forward to. If she showed up alone, Hyle would have the upper hand since Brienne would be embarrassed about her lies, which would make her vulnerable. With the walls she usually threw up, Hyle could use any opening to get to her. 

He grabbed a handful of peanuts out of the tiny bowl on his table and popped them into his mouth just as Brienne entered the bar, looking sleek in tailored slacks and a crisp blouse, as tall and ugly as ever, but with a healthy flush in her freckled cheeks and a man by her side. 

With all of Hyle’s experience as a war correspondent, it took more than the sight of Brienne Tarth looking healthy and centered and in the company of a man for Hyle to choke on his peanuts, but it was a close call. He chewed and swallowed in haste, and rose when Brienne spotted him and led her companion over to Hyle’s table, her big hand completely at ease on the sleeve of the man’s expensive coat. 

Hyle knew who her companion was, would have known even without a journalist’s memory for names and faces. Jaime Lannister looked even more arrogant than in his pictures accompanying reports in the business pages, and that was saying something. He eyed the bar, the patrons, and Hyle’s sports jacket and extended hand with detached amusement. 

Brienne shook Hyle’s hand. Up close, he saw that she still favored no makeup, but her clothes were expensive and well made. They must have been why she seemed so at ease: she had finally found clothes which fit her the way a woman’s clothes should, even if they did nothing for her bust, emphasizing length of limb instead. 

“Hyle. It’s nice to see you,” Brienne offered. 

Hyle couldn’t resist the grin which spread on his face. She was as polite as ever and sounded patently false with it. Well, this was a game two could play, even if Hyle suspected Brienne hadn’t bribed Lannister into coming with her. He wouldn’t have needed her money. The Lannisters had a shady reputation, but that was big business for you. Which meant that Brienne either knew something really incriminating about Lannister or they were genuinely together. 

The very thought was ludicrous. Brienne had no use for men, as everyone who’d known her in college could attest. While everyone on their college newspaper had been busy screwing everyone else, Brienne had kept herself to herself even after Hyle had suggested setting something up with all his friends, so she’d have a wide selection of potential fuck-buddies. She’d threatened him with bodily harm and gone on mooning over their gay editor-in-chief until the guy’d graduated and moved on to bigger things. Bigger cocks than Brienne had to offer too, no doubt, for all that she’d somewhat resembled a young man back then.

“You look good, Brienne,” Hyle offered, and she looked away. 

She did look good, didn’t resemble a man now. She was still as big, as broad, as unpretty as ever. Yet even with Jaime Lannister beside her, a hair shorter, pretty as a girl and as well put together, there was no mistaking the change in Brienne. She seemed at ease in her skin, in her clothes, between the two men, shaking Hyle’s hand while Lannister stood close enough to her that Hyle experienced a sudden desire to place his hand on Lannister’s chest and push him a step or two away from Brienne. 

Hyle released Brienne’s hand, switched hands smoothly, and shook Lannister’s cool hand in turn. “Hyle Hunt,” he offered.

“Jaime Lannister,” the other man drawled, a glint in his eye. “Brienne has told me not very much about you.”

Hyle grinned. “It’s been a long time. I was eager to catch up. When she mentioned a partner, I almost didn’t believe her.”

Lannister’s smile turned sharp. “Oh, Brienne is a terrible liar. Aren’t you, Brienne?”

For the first time since they’d arrived, Brienne blushed and looked uncomfortable, every inch the Brienne Hyle remembered. The sight reassured him as he invited them to sit down and beckoned a waitress over. 

Had Brienne come alone, Hyle would have asked about her life, prodded and needled if need be, and she’d have talked or not. Lannister proved to have the businessman’s ease with small talk, and soon the conversation flowed, the two men doing most of the talking. Brienne seemed content to sip her drink and sit quietly with Lannister’s arm slung over the back of her chair. The arm with no hand – Hyle had seen worse on the job, yet Lannister made even his prosthetic seem of a piece with his expensive suit, haircut, and high-wattage smile. Hyle wondered grumpily if all couples sat so close together in bars. The only couples with whom he usually interacted were other war correspondents and their temporary girlfriends from whatever hellhole they found themselves in, and those girls would sit on a man’s face in public for a couple of dragons and some canned goods. 

“So how did you two meet?” Hyle asked, the question which had been niggling at him for the last half hour. 

A look passed between them, stuck in Hyle’s craw. He didn’t like it or understand it: it was only a look exchanged by a man and a woman. It made both their eyes shine, made Brienne blush anew. Once upon a time, she had only blushed like that when Hyle and the others had teased her for her virginity, her size, her dedication to work and study to the exclusion of all else. Now she blushed that way to look at a man. It made Hyle want to grind his teeth.

“Lannister Enterprises owns a share in the _King’s Landing Post_ ,” Lannister explained, still looking at Brienne. “We met at a fundraiser. The young king of the business world meets poor but plucky junior news editor. We hit it off straight away, and the tabloid segment of my father’s media interests got their pound of flesh as well.” 

Brienne rolled her eyes, but she smiled at Lannister. “You were bored and amused yourself by insulting my clothes, and I called you an over-privileged ass. If that’s what you consider hitting it off…”

Lannister’s smile was slow and warm as molasses. “You certainly got my attention.”

When his fellow reporters had a Meereenese or Volantene beauty hanging all over them, Hyle could crack a crude joke, demand his colleague either find him a girl as well or lay off pawing his squeeze of the day in public. Lannister and Brienne were barely touching, yet Hyle felt like excusing himself. The folly of telling Brienne to bring her boyfriend along on the assumption that she’d been lying about having one was becoming clearer with every passing moment. 

“Weren’t you in charge of your father’s affairs in Essos?” Hyle asked pointedly. “I’m sure I read something about that.”

Lannister dragged his gaze from Brienne to Hyle. “I was. I swapped with my sister. Cersei was eager to get out from under Father’s thumb, and I had a reason to be in King’s Landing full time.” He smiled, lifted his beer to his lips. “My younger brother, however, is still stuck running our call center in Ulthos and takes every opportunity to remind me I promised I’d put in a good word for him with Father.” The beer left Lannister’s lips wet and shiny, framed by fashionable stubble. 

“That’s unlikely to work so long as your father remains in charge,” Brienne murmured. 

Lannister threw her a look of long-suffering sympathy, and Hyle felt again like he was intruding, started to harbor a small resentment toward Brienne. She hadn’t needed to bring Lannister along, despite Hyle’s offer. Hyle had intended to call her bluff, but apparently the exact opposite had happened. 

“What about you, Hyle? I can call you Hyle,” Lannister said, the lord of the manor laying claim to a right rather than a peer asking for permission. 

Hyle gave a curt nod and indulged in momentary fantasy of what Lannister would look like standing in the midst of a bombed-out building, covered in soot, dust, and blood. 

Lannister was still smiling. “A war correspondent? That sounds exciting.” 

Hyle opened his mouth to fling back something flippant, realized that was precisely what Lannister expected. Maybe the truth would have more of an effect.

“It’s exciting, all right,” Hyle said. “I’ve seen just about every kind of violent death at close quarters and slept in more rat-infested hotels than I care to remember, while a couple of big-shot anchors get all the glory for flying in for a day, and positioning themselves against the most artsy looking ruins and corpses for maximum effect. It’s a mug’s game, only wide-eyed kids think it’s glamorous for more than a minute. I’ve had ten years of it. I’m ready to come back to Westeros, look for a nice, boring position reporting on urban crime or the drug trade. Something safe and comfortable.” 

“You mentioned on the phone you’re looking for a permanent position,” Brienne began cautiously. “I can ask around the _Post_ , if you like, but I don’t think…”

Hyle cut her off. “I’ve got some irons of my own in the fire. But thanks.” 

In truth, he had plenty of contacts and no certain prospects. Ten years as a freelancer were starting to wear on him, and he had been hoping to see if Brienne might be better disposed to him now, with college a distant memory. He’d assumed she’d be getting desperate to settle down and have a kid or two. Hyle might have looked a lot better to her now. Or so Hyle’d reasonably assumed until she’d shown up with one of the capital’s most eligible bachelors on her arm. They must have been living together. She couldn’t have afforded her clothes on an editor’s salary. 

“Once upon a time, you were going to become a war correspondent as well, Brienne,” Hyle said, a challenge. “What happened, you chicken out?”

Lannister raised an eyebrow at that, and Brienne bristled, eliciting a smile of fond memory from Hyle. 

“No,” Brienne ground out. “I came to my senses in time.” 

She glanced at Lannister, spoke as if explaining something to him or herself more than Hyle, which did not help Hyle’s mounting annoyance one bit.

“So many war reporters die for no good reason,” Brienne said. “I figured I could do more good where I was.” 

“Charity work,” Lannister supplied off Hyle’s skeptical expression. “Brienne is forever dragging me to some inner-city renovation project or afterschool program for orphans.”

“It takes more than just writing checks, Jaime,” Brienne cried in what was clearly an often rehashed argument. “You know the kids adore you, you’re so good with them.”

Lannister made a face, but he also preened, like a cat being petted. 

“Sounds like you’re ready to pop out some brats of your own. There’s a mother inside you, Brienne, squirming to get out.” 

The words were out of Hyle’s mouth before he could evaluate their wisdom. The expressions on Brienne and Jaime Lannister’s faces were reward enough. 

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Brienne said stiffly, her face and neck awash in red. “Excuse me.”

She headed for the toilets in her unwomanly stride, more like the awkward girl Hyle had known than the more self-confident, comfortable woman who had shown up that evening. Hyle found the sight of her retreating back, held stiff and straight as a board, oddly comforting. 

Hyle looked back to find Lannister watching him with the steady gaze of a predator, too lazy or not hungry enough to attack. Yet. Hyle felt his blood run faster, his muscles grow taut in anticipation. 

“You friended Brienne on Facebook,” Lannister said, the challenge in his tone and the way he held himself rather than his words. “You might as well know she never uses her account. Her father wanted her to get one so they could keep in touch, but Selwyn Tarth isn’t exactly a natural when it comes to social networking.”

Hyle leaned back in his chair insolently. “That’s Brienne’s excuse. What’s yours? Are all women as beautiful in the dark as they say?” 

Lannister’s one good hand clenched into a fist before he loosened it, reached into his coat pocket, and retrieved his wallet. He withdrew enough money for all their drinks and an extremely generous tip. 

“What in seven hells are you doing, Lannister?” Hyle demanded, though he could guess well enough.

“Paying my debts. Clearing the field for the ass-kicking Brienne might want to give you when she gets back.” Lannister met Hyle’s eyes, the challenge in them now open and glinting like a blade. “Or I might, if she proves too polite and soft-hearted, even if you have the advantage of two hands.” 

“Brienne is stronger than most men, and quick,” Hyle replied, remembering Brienne in their college gym. “I still wouldn’t want a woman fighting my battles for me.” 

“That shows precisely what you know.” 

Lannister was rising from his chair, grinning ferally and flexing his hand, when Brienne came back. Hyle rose as well. 

“Jaime?” Her wide blue eyes darted between the two men. 

“Your sort-of friend has overstayed his welcome,” Lannister explained, not taking his eyes off Hyle. “I suggest we leave. This is a nice bar. I’d hate to start something unpleasant.” 

A part of Hyle knew Lannister was paying him a courtesy, one man who’s probably done his fair share of speaking rashly to another. The much bigger part of Hyle saw a man angling to make himself look good in front of his woman. A man who had looks, money, charm, and Brienne. He’d lost a hand years ago, but that seemed like a small price to pay from where Hyle stood, the stench of ravaged cities still in his nostrils.

“I have a better idea,” Hyle said. His own voice sounded amazingly calm in his ears, given the folly that smaller, saner part of him knew he was about to commit. “Why don’t you both come back to my hotel room? It isn’t much, but it does have a big bed. You two must be bored stiff in your cozy little nest, and I’m leaving for Essos in a few days anyway. A change of pace for all of us.” Hyle looked at Brienne, her eyes wide and her cheeks blooming red. “Unfinished business.” He looked at Lannister, smiled crookedly. “Once in a lifetime opportunity.”

Now that the words were out, beyond his control, they didn’t sound like a bad idea to Hyle, sounded even perfectly possible. There wasn’t a man alive who didn’t consider what having it off with another man might be like, and all lips were made for kissing. Hyle could see how sucking off someone as handsome as Jaime Lannister might not be much of a sacrifice. Not to mention, it would be a tale to tell his reporter buddies, how he’d nabbed both the girl who wouldn’t let him near her in college and the heir to Tywin Lannister’s fortune in one fell screw. Even if most of Hyle’s friends wouldn’t believe him. 

Lannister threw back his head and howled with laughter. Not the nervous, defensive chuckle of a man whose sexuality had just been called into question. The full-throated laugh of a man who’d just heard something utterly absurd presented as plausible fact. Hyle’s nascent confidence in the scheme diminished somewhat. 

Brienne stared at Lannister with an appalled expression. 

“Jaime, stop it.” Her voice sounded very small. 

Lannister coughed, got himself under control with a visible effort. “I’m sorry, Brienne,” he wheezed, put out his hand and caressed her burning cheek, which made Hyle want to knock Lannister down, not in a way either man would enjoy. 

“I’m sorry,” Lannister repeated, still talking to Brienne. “As if I’d share you.” 

Brienne’s eyelids fluttered for a moment as she stepped closer, into Lannister’s touch, her shoulders hunching slightly as though they were embracing. 

The last time Hyle had seen someone miscalculate as badly as he just had, the man had stepped on a land mine. They’d sent him home in a box the size of a desk drawer. 

The analogy struck him as especially apt when Brienne opened her eyes and fixed him with an icy blue gaze. 

“Do you remember what I told you the last time you suggested a game to pass the time?” she asked, her voice still trembling, with fury now. 

Hyle broke off from the snare of her wide, honest gaze, the grappling hook of Lannister’s frown, looked away. “I meant no harm,” Hyle muttered sullenly. 

He hadn’t meant any harm that time he’d threatened to sneak into her dorm room shortly before they’d both graduated, either. In his defense, Hyle’d been half drunk on Dornish sherry, but only drunk enough to make good on how he’d felt, no more. The look of utter disgust on Brienne’s face had deterred him even more than her pointed flexing of her biceps, while some freshmen sitting on the next couch over in their dorm’s rec room had cheered and hooted. 

“Next time you contact the _Post_ , don’t ask for me.” Brienne’s words were a wall with no door, no way for Hyle to get through. “Come on, Jaime, I’ll explain in the car.” 

Hyle did not look up until they were gone, pummeled by the words he could not hear Brienne speak as she told Lannister about Hyle’s playful threats, more suggestions than threats really. Hyle imagined her hand grasping Lannister’s arm to prevent him from coming back and beating Hyle into the ground. But for Lannister’s inhuman self-confidence and Brienne Tarth’s uptightness, Hyle’s idea might have borne fruit, and Hyle could have spent a memorable night in fairly pleasant company. Instead he sat back down at his table with three unfinished beers growing warm on it and signaled a passing waitress for a whiskey chaser. 

When he returned to his dingy hotel the following day after a job interview with the _Crownlands Gazette_ , where his bloodshot eyes hadn’t impressed the editor-in-chief, Hyle experienced a leaden lack of surprise as well as shameful relief to find that Brienne had unfriended him on Facebook. Within the sennight, he was on a plane back to Slaver’s Bay.


End file.
